Only a shadow brooded over her sweet, calm face, and once or twice she sighed to herself.
It was market-day, and people came in and out, bringing their store of gossip from the country, or the town--from the farm or the quay-side.
Among the pieces of news, the rescue of the smack the night before furnished a large topic; and by-and-by Philip heard a name that startled him into attention.
The landlady of a small public-house much frequented by sailors was talking to Coulson.
'There was a sailor aboard of her as knowed Kinraid by sight, in Shields, years ago; and he called him by his name afore they were well out o' t' river.

And Kinraid was no ways set up, for all his lieutenant's uniform (and eh! but they say he looks handsome in it!); but he tells 'm all about it--how he was pressed aboard a man-o'-war, an' for his good conduct were made a warrant officer, boatswain, or something!' All the people in the shop were listening now; Philip alone seemed engrossed in folding up a piece of cloth, so as to leave no possible chance of creases in it; yet he lost not a syllable of the good woman's narration.
She, pleased with the enlarged audience her tale had attracted, went on with fresh vigour.
'An' there's a gallant captain, one Sir Sidney Smith, and he'd a notion o' goin' smack into a French port, an' carryin' off a vessel from right under their very noses; an' says he, "Which of yo' British sailors 'll go along with me to death or glory ?" So Kinraid stands up like a man, an' "I'll go with yo', captain," he says.

So they, an' some others as brave, went off, an' did their work, an' choose whativer it was, they did it famously; but they got caught by them French, an' were clapped into prison i' France for iver so long; but at last one Philip--Philip somethin' (he were a Frenchman, I know)--helped 'em to escape, in a fishin'-boat.

But they were welcomed by th' whole British squadron as was i' t' Channel for t' piece of daring they'd done i' cuttin' out t' ship from a French port; an' Captain Sir Sidney Smith was made an admiral, an' him as we used t' call Charley Kinraid, the specksioneer, is made a lieutenant, an' a commissioned officer i' t' King's service; and is come to great glory, and slep in my house this very blessed night as is just past!' A murmur of applause and interest and rejoicing buzzed all around Philip.

All this was publicly known about Kinraid,--and how much more?
All Monkshaven might hear tomorrow--nay, to-day--of Philip's treachery to the hero of the hour; how he had concealed his fate, and supplanted him in his love.
Philip shrank from the burst of popular indignation which he knew must follow.